agents of chaos
by gr8rockstarrox
Summary: Every game has rules by which it's to be played. But in the eyes of two people from a different world, games aren't meant to be played; they're meant to be beaten. They try to break the game by increasing the entropy of the system. They create chaos. [fem Harry; fem!Harry/Sirius; grey!Harry]
1. Chapter I

chaos (ˈkeɪɒs/) - _noun_

1\. complete disorder and confusion.

2\. the property of a complex system whose behaviour is so unpredictable as to appear random, owing to great sensitivity to small changes in conditions.

3\. the formless matter supposed to have existed before the creation of the universe.

* * *

 **AGENTS OF CHAOS**

 **Chapter I**

* * *

"Sirius!" she yells, as Bellatrix's spell hits her Godfather. He falls, petrified, a ghost of a smile still etched onto his face. She has to stop him, she has to save him.

He's falling in slow motion, and suddenly, she can move. She runs faster than she's ever run before. Just as he falls through a translucent curtain, she catches him.

They both fall through the curtain.

The last thing she can hear is Remus yelling out her name.

~o~

The colours keep changing around the pair of them. They're travelling through a myriad of pictures and moments in time. Just as she thinks she can make out a scene, it shifts and changes.

And all this while, they haven't stopped falling. They're falling oh-so-slowly, though their surroundings change way too fast for their neural synapses to comprehend the blur of hues and colours, and sometimes disjointed noises.

Finally, the colours solidify into one final shade, and a time snap occurs. She falls on top of Sirius with an 'oomph' and he puts his arms around her to protect her from falling on the ground.

They both look around to see where they've arrived, as the sounds of this new place catches up to them. There's a gleaming red steam engine whistling, and there's the sound of incessant chatter from students and adults, alike. It's like a white noise.

"Si-Sirius?" she asks, uncertain. Because the boy lying under her seems to be only eleven or twelve. His eyes are the same blue-grey as Sirius', though.

"Harry?" the boy asks, his eyes wide.

There's a swish from behind her, and a voice calls out, "Hariel dear, I told you not to run!"

 _'That's your mother. You call her Mama,'_ a voice that sounds like her own whispers in her head.

Surprised by that voice, she jumps up, and hastily tries to pull this eleven year old Sirius up with her.

"You even knocked down someone else? I'm so sorry, dearie. Hariel's just like that."

She says, "Sorry, Mama," just as Sirius says, "It's all right, Mrs. Potter."

"You both introduced yourselves already? How lovely! What's your name?" she asks, and Hariel doesn't know what to say. Thankfully, they're saved by a blonde woman who comes to stand behind Sirius. Hariel recognises her from the portrait in Grimmauld's Place.

"Euphemia. I see your daughter has already tried to maim my son?" she asks coolly.

Sirius cuts in before _Mama_ can reply, saying smoothly, "It's partly my fault Mother. I wasn't seeing where I was going. Hariel even helped me up."

"Hariel, is it?" she asks, her grey eyes moving from Sirius' to Harry's.

 _'You curtsey and address her as Lady Black.'_

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Black," she says dutifully, following the advice of the voice in her head. It's when she curtseys that she notices her own clothes. She's wearing robes of high quality. She's never worn robes this expensive, except during the Yule Ball.

"Ah, a child who has some manners. You might be able to teach my son something of Pureblood culture," she says, as Sirius scowls.

Mama and Lady Black move away to discuss something, which gives Harry the perfect opportunity to ask Sirius about what is going on.

"Siri? What's happening?" she asks, softly.

He cocks his head to one side, considering her question.

"I have no clue, Harry. We're stuck as eleven year olds. But - "

She cuts him off by shaking her head violently. He stops talking long enough to notice the younger boy who seems to be eavesdropping on them.

Sirius grabs the boy by the sleeve and grins.

"Hariel Potter, meet my younger brother Regulus Black."

~o~

They're now seated in an empty compartment. Sirius has already warded the place and Hariel has locked the door physically and drawn the blinds. Precaution is a must.

"Right, we have to talk about what's going on."

"We seem to be reliving my First Year."

"Only that it isn't your First Year, because there's no James Potter."

"Exactly. You're in his place. You even have his mother."

"Do you think we're in some sort of alternate universe?" she asks, putting her feet up next to him. That's when she notices that she's wearing footwear made of the softest of velvets, in a shade to match the robes she's wearing.

"It's possible. The Department of Mysteries houses some of the world's most mysterious artefacts. That's why it's called the Department of _Mysteries_."

"The question is, what are we going to do now?" she asks, thinking of the battle raging on in the Ministry.

"Isn't it quite obvious?" he asks, his eyes glinting. "We change the future."

~o~

They're now standing in front of McGonagall, having been led here by Hagrid. Hariel finds that it's not all that different this time around, apart from there being no toadless boy for the Deputy Headmistress to chastise.

She's standing close to Sirius, and they're both trying to spot Remus. They want to befriend him before the Sorting, so that they can influence him to join Gryffindor. He'd probably make a lovely Hufflepuff, but they've decided that it's only in Gryffindor that they can keep a close eye on him – Merlin knows he'll need their support, going through puberty as a werewolf.

Sirius has already located Snape and her mother, and can't stop scowling. So Hariel squeezes his right hand and goes back to looking for Remus, as McGonagall leaves the First Years to themselves, telling them to be ready for their Sorting when she comes back.

"Siri! Don't look now, but I think that sandy haired boy in second-hand robes standing towards the end of the crowd is Remus," she hisses in a low voice.

He turns around immediately, disregarding her warning.

"That's him, all right. I'm going to talk to him now. You'll manage here all by yourself, Prongslet?"

"Yeah, I'll manage. You'll look after the Sorting, right?"

"Don't worry. It's all under control."

And before she can say anything, he sets off towards Remus.

Hariel scowls in annoyance, and taps her foot on the marble of the floor impatiently, trying to tune out the stupid chatter of the people around.

"My brother said that we'll have to answer questions in front of _everyone_ in just our underclothes if we don't want to go into Hufflepuff," says one boy nervously, as the girl next to him lets out a puff of breath indignantly.

"There's nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff! Both my parents are from Hufflepuff!"

The boy mutters something offensive and the girl sniffs loudly, before stomping her feet and moving away.

Hariel looks down at the platinum watch she has on her wrist, wondering how much longer it will take for McGonagall to reappear. When she looks up, her eyes meet the cold blue of Narcissa Black's, and the blonde girl nods her head in acknowledgement.

 _'You met her at Madam Malkin's when you went to place your order for your robes,'_ whispers the "Voice" – as she's dubbed it – and so she mimics Narcissa's gesture.

"Which house do you wish to be in?" asks the other witch, as Hariel mentally compares the girl in front of her with the woman she'd seen before. There are facial features that haven't changed, Hariel realises, and guesses that that's probably why she could identify her.

"I suppose Gryffindor would be for the best, though Ravenclaw shouldn't be too bad," replies Hariel, waiting for Narcissa to react to the Gryffindor part.

"Gryffindor would suit you, I suppose. You are, after all, his descendant," says the girl pleasantly, and for a moment, Hariel is surprised. But the Voice speaks again, and Hariel finds herself better informed.

"Yes, Tallulah Gryffindor did marry into the Potter line," Hariel replies, and notes that there's a flicker of interest in the blonde's eyes, before the mask slips back on again.

"I didn't realise your parents promoted lineage studies," says the witch carefully, and Hariel knows for sure that the girl is going to be in Slytherin.

"My parents don't care much for blood, but they believe everyone must take pride in their history," she says, as an image of Fleamont Potter showing her an ancestry book pops into her head.

"Interesting," Narcissa says, as McGonagall materialises in front of them, a scroll of parchment in her hand.

In the hush that descends among the students, Hariel whispers in Narcissa's ears, "You'll do well in Slytherin."

For the first time in their entire conversation, Narcissa Black flashes her a lively smile.

~o~

"I disappear for two minutes and you're friends with my cousin?" asks Sirius playfully, as they all troop into the Great Hall.

"She seems nice enough," Hariel tells him, as she surreptitiously watches the older students sitting at their house tables.

"Wait till she meets Lucius Malfoy. That's when the drama starts."

Hariel scans the Slytherin table, and finds a pretentious boy with pale blond hair and a pointed chin, regaling his housemates with some tale – like father, like son, she thinks.

"Which year is he in?"

"Second Year now, pretentious git."

"Who are you talking about?" asks the pleasant voice from earlier , and Hariel feels a grin creeping up on her face as she turns to face Narcissa. Sirius scowls.

"Your stupid future husband," he growls viciously, and Narcissa's mouth falls open.

Hariel nudges Sirius, as Narcissa complains, "I'll be writing to Aunt Walburga!"

Like mother, like son as well, she thinks, continuing to grin.

"So who is it?" Narcissa demands, but McGonagall announces at that moment that the Sorting is about to begin. Immediately, the hall quietens, and Narcissa is paying close attention, her thirst for gossip forgotten.

Aiden Avery is the first boy to be Sorted. He walks to the stool timidly, as though the hush of silence in the room is pressing against him. When he's sorted into Hufflepuff, he breathes an audible sigh of relief, and grins broadly at his future mates, as the badgers all break into applause to welcome their newest member.

Two more sortings, and a boy named Marcus Belamy is being sorted.

If Narcissa looked pale earlier, she looks absolutely ghastly now. Despite her earlier sort-of quarrel with Sirius, Narcissa is tightly clutching his hand, which makes Sirius exchange an amused glance with Hariel.

"You'll get into Slytherin," Hariel promises, and Narcissa trembles ever so slightly, before nodding her head bravely and shrugging Sirius' hand off.

"Black, Narcissa."

The Sorting Hat comes down to Narcissa's nose, which looks funny on the otherwise prim and proper girl. Her pale hands clutch the edges of the stool, and her knuckles are white – Hariel can see this even from this distance.

"SLYTHERIN!" bellows the hat, and when McGonagall removes the hat, Narcissa is smiling relievedly. The only person smiling more broadly is Professor Slughorn.

"Remember the plan," Sirius whispers urgently, and she squeezes his hand as the next name is called out .

"Black, Sirius."

If the hat took long for Narcissa, it takes longer for Sirius. Hariel slowly grows worried, because what if Sirius is put in Slytherin? All their planning would be for nought. Just as she fingers her wand, wondering if she must cast a spell to confound the hat, it bellows out its decision.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Hariel breathes a sigh of relief, but the rest of the hall is first quiet, then filled with a tentative applause from the Gryffindor table, even as a tall girl from the Slytherin table stands up and shrieks, "He's supposed to be in Slytherin!"

It takes her a moment to recognise that the shrieking female is none other than Bellatrix Les– _Black_. And Professor Slughorn looks like he agrees with her.

Hariel catches Sirius' eye as he sits next to someone who looks a lot like Charlie Weasley. He smiles at her. She grins back.

So far, their plan is going on without a hitch.

Someone once said life's nothing but a game, but real games aren't meant to be played – they're meant to be broken.

* * *

 **This is a story I started a while ago, and I'm hoping posting this will help me get over my writing slump. I hope this bides you over in the time it takes me to finish the latest chapter of Threads Of Time. That's still my number one priority.**

 **Each chapter in this will be some 2k+ words, and it'll be fast paced af.**

 **I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it. xx**


	2. Chapter II

Unpredictability \- /ʌnprɪdɪktəˈbɪlɪti/ - _noun_

Because we can never know all the initial conditions of a complex system in sufficient (i.e. perfect) detail, we cannot hope to predict the ultimate fate of a complex system. Even slight errors in measuring the state of a system will be amplified dramatically, rendering any prediction useless. Since it is impossible to measure the effects of all the butterflies (etc) in the World, accurate long-range weather prediction will always remain impossible.

* * *

 **AGENTS OF CHAOS**

 **Chapter II**

* * *

"Pettigrew, Peter."

Hariel looks over at Sirius, and she briefly catches his eye. His attention immediately shifts to the hat, and she watches as he discreetly flicks his wand in the direction of the hat.

A Confoundus spell, nonverbally cast.

A grim smile is all she gets from him, to signify that he's done his part, before he strikes up a conversation with a shy Remus and a vibrant Lily Evans, both of whom are sitting near him.

It's irrational, but Hariel can't help but feel that Sirius should be paying attention to either the hat on the traitor's head or to _her_ , instead of chatting up the red haired girl. In her agitated state, she catches Narcissa looking at her mischievously, and that gives her pause.

Narcissa smirks and leans over to her older sister to whisper something, and for the first time in this weird dimension, Hariel finds herself looking into the eyes of the resident psychopath, Bellatrix Black.

The older girl holds her gaze, and Hariel can't look away. It's a test, to see if she comes up to the mark, to see if she's worthy of the older witch's attention. If she looks away now, it means defeat, and being trodden on by Bellatrix for the next couple of years. So she looks firmly into those grey eyes of lunacy and holds her place, even as the hat bellows out, in the background, HUFFLEPUFF.

Hariel wants to cheer, wants to look at Sirius and see how he feels, but she's made of sterner stuff, and she won't be the first one to back down from a staring contest. Bellatrix has already assessed her from head to toe, and Hariel wonders if her hatred for the racist witch is apparent on her face. It probably isn't, she decides, because the only expression on Bellatrix's face is one of amusement.

Hariel is so engrossed in proving her worth, that she almost doesn't move when it's her turn.

"Potter, Hariel," calls out Professor McGonagall once more, and she's forced to look away and move towards the stool.

She passes Severus Snape on the way, and he shoots her a look of derision, possibly because her name was called twice.

Sirius smiles at her, and that's the last image she has, before the hat falls down upon her vision. Sirius makes a cute little First Year, she thinks – completely adorable.

"I see you've been here before," says the Hat.

"So you know I'm best suited for Gryffindor."

"From what I can tell from your memories, I made a mistake, the last time I sorted you, girl. You have ambition in spades, knowledge of great things, and probably some courage too. Maybe Sl–"

"NO. _NO._ I'm not going to Slytherin, no fucking way."

"Mind your language, girl. You might think you're fifteen, but you're only eleven as well."

"You've sorted me before. I know you take my choice into account. I refuse to go to Slytherin."

"If that's how you're going to be, you better be in... RAVENCLAW!"

It's in a daze that Hariel registers McGonagall has taken off the hat, and that she should be making her way to the table where polite applause is emanating from. Her walk to the table of eagles is slow – she feels like the very air around her is denser.

She quietly sits down next to a tall girl with a prefect badge pinned to her rather ample chest, and stares at the table. Did Sirius' spell confuse the hat for good? She's meant to have a tie of gold and red, not blue and bronze.

"That boy's staring at you, you know? I think he's worried."

Hariel looks at the pixie-like girl to her right, frowning at how she seems to resemble someone Hariel knows.

"What?"

"That boy there at the Gryffindor table, look."

Hariel searches the Gryffindor table, and finds that Sirius is looking at her with concern. She shakes her head a little, and he nods; he's understood that not everything's okay.

"You both could be soul-mates, the way you don't need to talk to understand each other."

 _"What?"_

This time Hariel turns fully in her seat to look at the other Ravenclaw.

The witch shakes her dirty blonde hair, and smiles.

"How rude of me, I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Pandora Ross."

"Hariel Potter."

The other girl probably senses that Hariel isn't in the mood for anything but deep contemplation, because she doesn't talk anymore, instead paying attention to the Sorting ceremony that goes on.

"Snape, Severus."

That snaps Hariel out of her reverie, and she watches as the hat slides down upon that slimy, greasy head. She can't think of a better place for that oddball than Slytherin.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hariel snaps her head to look at Sirius, and finds him looking at her similarly. She doesn't clap politely the way the other Ravenclaws (and one Lily Evans) are doing, choosing instead to share a look of dismay and horror with Sirius.

A glum and sullen Snape takes a place further down the table, and all Hariel can think of, with glee, is, Severus Snape doesn't look too chuffed to be in Ravenclaw.

 _Serves the greasy bastard right._

Hariel smiles.

~o~

 _'Meet me outside the Gryffindor common room at 12 sharp. Bring your cloak.'_

Hariel scowls once more at the note, as she continues waiting outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. The latter had tried making conversation, but Hariel had pointedly ignored her.

At ten minutes past twelve, the door swings open, and Sirius steps out, grinning broadly.

"You're late."

"Aren't you both a bit too young to be rendezvousing this late at night?" asks the Fat Lady, and Hariel is tempted to show her the bird.

"I had some trouble extricating myself from my room. Remus is a light sleeper, you know."

"Where to now?" she asks, ignoring whatever he'd said.

"How about that Room of Requirement you told me about in your letters?"

Hariel nods, and swiftly throws the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them.

"Gods, I've missed this cloak," Sirius whispers, and in the fading torchlight, Hariel grins at him.

"Welcome back, Marauder."

~o~

They're sat in a facsimile of the room where the DA usually meets, and Hariel realises with a pang that she'll never get to do that again. At least not with Ron and Hermione.

And that makes her angry.

Sirius might be reliving the best time of his life, albeit without his James Potter, but whatever – it's not the same for her. She's stuck in a house where all everyone wants to do is discuss books (text books for fuck's sake), her mother – the one James fell head over heels for, not her _mama_ – is prettier than she ever was or would be, and Voldemort is probably going to take over the world this time around, and there'd be no one to stop him – though it wasn't like she'd known what it was she had been doing in her real life.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Were you listening to a word I said?"

She looks at him blankly, and he comes and sits right next to her, even throwing his arm around her. She pushes his arm off to convey her displeasure with everything that's been happening to her; it's not fair.

"We need to figure out what to do next – the sorting was a bust," he continues, either not noticing her expression, or choosing to ignore it.

"But at least that traitor rat is away from it all. I think the Confounding spell changed everyone's destination, confounded the hat for good. Everyone after Pettigrew, that is. That girl who got sorted into your house? Giulia Zabini? She went to Slytherin the first time around."

"And I got sorted into Ravenclaw," she says glumly.

"And Snivellus with you," says Sirius, a laugh lacing his voice, and Hariel turns and shoots daggers at him with her eyes. Her plight isn't as hilarious as Sirius thinks it is.

"Don't be like that, love, think of how much fun you can have," he says, tossing his head back and laughing, an almost maniacal glint in his eyes.

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, and no, I'm not going to waste any bloody time on that grease ball, even if it's only pranks."

Sirius leans back on the sofa and speaks faux wisely, "Sounds like a lot of resentment you possess there for your housemate, Ms Potter. A spot of pranking is exactly what the healer recommends."

"You're thirty-five years old, at least pretend to act your age," she snarks, before stretching out like a cat. As much as she despises that hook-nosed bat, she has more important things to do, like getting control of her life in this weird place.

Somehow, ever since her sorting, there's been clawing in her chest, like there's a monster waiting to be unleashed.

It's her fault that she is in the House she is now – if she'd thought through properly and considered the prolonged effects of the Confoundus charm on a partially-sentient object, she wouldn't be paying the price the way she is. Both she and Sirius had been hasty, too enraptured by the seeming brilliance of their idea.

 _'Don't count your dragons before they hatch.'_

A memory of her _mama_ telling that to her invades her mind, a memory where she seems to be only a quarter of Euphemia Potter's height. She banishes the memory with force, trying not to let it take her in – none of this feels real, it may all as well be an illusion.

Hariel doesn't like how powerless she feels at the moment, with no control over what's going to happen to her. She's been this way for too long, meek and lamblike, letting Dumbledore and Voldemort and the Dursleys decide her life, and the rage builds in her, till she's gripping her fists tightly.

"Harry," says Sirius quietly, prying open her fists with his nimble fingers, and Hariel sees the moonlike crescents of bloods on the insides of her palms, which prompt her to come out of trance, albeit with a grim smile.

She's no longer to save the world or any of that rubbish, which means she's got time in spades. And she's not going to let this opportunity go to waste; she's going to take Fate by its horns and live life on her terms. She's going to seek power, till every breath she takes dictates the lives of the people around her.

As her new found resolve washes over her, the monster quells, and she turns to regard a worried Sirius who's still holding her hands.

"I'm fine, Siri, I really am," she says, and her teeth glint eerily in the torchlight, as Sirius just nods.

The wizarding world will never be the same again.

* * *

 **And thus Harry's descent into moral greyness starts.**

 **If you catch the reference to a popular Broadway musical, I will instantly be your friend. Extra points if you know who Pandora is!**

 **I wanted to update this much sooner, but I've been caught up with my final year project: psychoanalyzing people via sentiment analysis of their social media. The project deadline is looming up, and I've done only 40%. It has the power to either boost or decimate my GPA.**

 **I also need to start looking for a job — such fun.**

 **But on the bright side, I got a Golden Retriever puppy a couple of weeks back. His name's Draco and he's an adorable furball of terror. If he isn't sleeping, he's being a brat.**

 **Thanks for reading! xx**


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